“Yeah, I was a grunt once.”
“I’ve always thought military men had a sense of honor.”
“I do,” Sean said.
“I have a sense of honor, too. I won’t screw you over, you won’t screw me and Bobby over. We’re all happier. Do we have a deal?”
“Don’t kid yourself that I want to cut a deal with you, honey. What if I say no?”
“Then you’ll be killed,” Red said. “How does that sound?”
He watched her face, chewed the last olive in his martini, swallowed the small puddle of vodka at the glass’s bottom. Watched her face for a hint of bluff and didn’t see any. “Bobby sure got smart since he got to town.”
“This town forces you to be smarter, Sean,” she said, and now she smiled at him and it seemed genuine, like they hadn’t discussed big money and death.
“It hasn’t worked on me yet,” Sean said.
“You’re plenty smart, hon,” Red said. “So agree to this. Come to the Misty Moor Bar — off the Strip, near the Convention Center — in two hours. Alone and unarmed. Break either rule and you’re dead. You’ll get your money then. You will be expected to leave Vegas immediately; we’ll even escort you to the airport.”
She swung her legs off the bar stool, pulled a ten from her purse.
“I’ll buy your wine,” Sean said. “You can buy my drink at the other bar.”
She tucked the bill back inside. “Thanks. I’ll see you then,” she said. “And, Sean?”
“What?”
“It’s nothing personal. Bobby likes you. So do I.”
Red turned and walked out, and he debated whether he should follow her. He counted to twenty, left money on the counter, got up from the barstool, headed out and hung back in the casino’s crowd.
She never looked back to see if he trailed her. But if she wasn’t working alone, as she said, then her partners might be watching him this very moment. He stayed back as far as he dared, weaving through the slot machiners hooting at their triple cherries, past a rail-thin lady carrying a bucket of coins with all the care she would give the Holy Grail, past honeymooners nuzzling in the lobby. She headed past the bell attendants dressed like ancient Greeks. There was no taxi line at the moment, and she quickly ducked into a cab with a promo for a wireless phone service mounted on the trunk, a monkey wearing eyeglasses talking on a cellular.
As soon as her cab pulled out of the circular driveway he grabbed a taxi, told the Nigerian driver to head down the Strip, and said, “See that cab up ahead? With the monkey talking on the phone? Follow it, please.”
“Excuse?”
“The ad on the back. See?” She was five cars ahead of them, her driver changing lanes, and Sean could taste his own panic in his mouth, sour and coppery. “Jesus, keep up, don’t lose them, but don’t get too close.”
“Ah,” the driver said. “No trouble is wanted.”
“That’s my girlfriend,” he said, “and I think she’s dumping me to go back to her husband. I don’t want trouble, I just want to know, ’cause if she’s leaving me, I’m just gonna go back to my wife.”
The Nigerian made a low noise in his throat that sounded like “Americans” but said nothing more.
Screw this meeting on her turf. He wasn’t about to risk Vic’s rage for a measly ten grand. Let her take him straight to Bobby. He would end their little game tonight, and then get the hell out of town.
The cab took her to a small house, in an older, quiet residential area distant from all the neon and glam. Not a well-to-do neighborhood but not too scruffy. He told the driver to let him off at the corner where her cab had turned, and shoved fifty at the Nigerian, who babbled thanks and rewed off. Sean sprinted away from the corner, out of her line of sight. He couldn’t see Red but her cab was pulling away from a house nine homes down from where he was, marked with a decorative covered wagon mailbox.
This was, he decided, a good hideout for Bobby. Quiet neighborhood, probably not a lot of crime, older folks who kept an eye on each other. Maybe it was the woman’s house, although she looked like she came from money. Or had money. The easy, unafraid confidence she had with him, the nice clothes she’d worn both nights.
He felt a lava-heat anger with Bobby; oddly, he didn’t wish Red ill at the moment and his reaction surprised him. He liked her; Vic would have liked her too, but she had chosen the wrong side. She was the kind of girl he’d like to have taken back to Houston, taken out to dinner with Vic. She would have made Sean look good, would have had fun with him. Stupid Bobby, getting himself and this cool girl killed.
Sean headed for the next street, which ran parallel to the street she’d stopped on. In case she’d seen the cab, gotten suspicious. If she’d seen him, she and Bobby would run, and that might be the end of the money and of Sean.
He walked down a little street called Pelican Way — where the hell were there pelicans in Nevada? he wondered — counting houses, just giving her and Bobby time to relax, letting them start to get ready for meeting him at the bar. He counted nine houses, stopped in front of one. Brick, a one-car carport, wind chimes hanging by the front door, the trim and shutters needing a fresh coat of paint.
This ranch-style should be directly behind Red’s house. He changed his plan. The house was dark, entirely so, no cars in the small driveway, old oil leaks marring the carport’s concrete. The house next door was dark, too, although the house on the other side had a single light gleaming on its porch. He turned like he belonged here and walked, casually, straight up the driveway. He went through the carport, paused at the fence, listened for the rasp of dog breath, and then opened the gate and went inside.
The backyard was empty except for a swing set, an old barbecue, dusty patio furniture in need of a wash. Sean went to the fence and tiptoed onto the rail, peering into Red’s backyard. Three lights on in the house. A kitchen with an old-style bay window. Then he saw Red talking on the phone, moving from the kitchen table to the counter, sipping from a water bottle, moving back again. He ducked back down under the fence. Waited a minute. Looked again.
Now the kitchen was empty. He watched, counted to two hundred. Didn’t see movement in the house. Counted to two hundred again, looked. All appeared quiet.
No guards, no dogs. The thought that Red must be part of a rival drug ring in town who’d convinced Bobby to switch sides occurred to him, but then he thought not. She didn’t seem the gang type. Maybe she really was just working with him, no one else, a heist by her and Bobby. He hoped. It would make his work easier.
Sean went over the fence, dropped down, sprinted for the patio. He had a Clock under his jacket and as he ran he pulled it free. He got to the patio, waited against the door. Listened to the soft buzz of the TV. Sounded like an old John Wayne movie, the distinctive rise and fall of the Duke saying, “Hell, yes, I’m back in town.”
Then he heard Red’s voice, gentle: “I’ll be back in a little while, all right? Enjoy the movie.” No answer from whoever she was talking to.
Sean moved away from the door. He heard a door open to his right, into the one-car garage. Light footsteps, just one person, heels, a woman’s step. Red, alone. Then a car starting, pulling out of the driveway, headlights flickering on at the last moment. She had a car but had taken a taxi to King Midas so he couldn’t follow her to a parked car in the lot. Smart girl. Sean stayed still, counted to one hundred. He went around to the carport, tried the door to the house. Locked.
He popped the glass pane in the door, and it tinkled, surely loud enough for Bobby to hear inside the house. So he worked quickly, reaching inside, fingers fumbling to unlock the door.
There was no deadbolt. Instead, there was another key lock. Bobby was locked in from both sides. Weird. He leveled his pistol through the broken glass, waiting for Bobby to barrel out at the sound of the break-in, but there was no sound in the darkened house except the melodramatic score of the Western, faint as a whisper.